


Little Dove

by Faisalliot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Begging, Bottom Tom Riddle, Breeding, Come Inflation, Double Anal Penetration, Double Penetration, Double Penetration in One Hole, Humiliation, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, If Tom REALLY got knocked up by Tentacle Harry is up to your interpretation, Impregnation, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Break, PWP, Piss, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pregnancy Kink, Prostate Massage, Rough Oral Sex, Situational Humiliation, Size Kink, Subspace, Tentacle Sex, Tom pisses himself lmao, Top Harry Potter, way too fucking funny to be quantified as porn apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26563546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faisalliot/pseuds/Faisalliot
Summary: Completely unbeknownst to Tom, he’s picked the night where Harry, who's channeling his inner desire to be an octopus, is chilling in the forest to go unicorn hunting. You can imagine what Harry does with those tentacles.Blatant PWP where Tom gets railed by Tentacle Beast Harry and pretty much gets inflated with cum for all his trouble. I finished writing this at 3am and somehow it doesn’t look like it.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 58
Kudos: 791
Collections: Asians-Finished_reading-list1, Some smut





	Little Dove

**Author's Note:**

> added notes from dutch, cowriter: moth you can't just stay up writing porn till 3am  
> added added notes from Moth: I can do what I WANT
> 
> Harry, chilling in the forest: oh man this is a great night  
> Harry: why didn’t I do this earlier it’s so cool to be an octopus.  
> Tom, la-de-da-ing: I’m gonna kill a u-ni-corn, ha ha ha ha HAAA ha...  
> Harry:  
> Harry: well. I’m gonna go harass him.

This was literally the worst time for a huge fucking tentacle monster man to be chasing Tom, but since the world liked to toy with him, that was the situation at the moment. Vaulting over boulders, dodging harassed erklings and tree trunks all the same, scratching the hell out of his face on brambles and branches, his lungs were burning like hell the whole time he was running for his own dear life. Tom was really having _A Night,_ and at this point, he wasn’t even sure if he was more angry or scared out of his wits. 

He was scared because, might he remind, _a huge fucking monster_ was pursueing him, likely in hopes of making him their midnight snack, and that was in part his own goddamn fault since he was the jackass tromping around the woods in the dead of night—but he was also pissed because it wasn’t like he’d been here for no reason—he had only come into this stupid, _bleeding_ forest to find a unicorn. There was a _purpose_ behind this, dammit—and it had been a perfect opportunity too! Dumbledore was distracted, he was the only prefect supposed to be on duty, school was out in matter of days in time for Yule so if this went awry his weird behavior wouldn’t be noted, he had a firm alibi, and this was a full-moon―right when unicorns would be strutting about in the moonlight. 

And here his perfect plan was, getting thwarted by some multi-limbed _arsehole_ that just so happened to live in the forest. 

He cursed under his breath as a jolt of pain shot up his ankle for the third time but kept trucking it, lamenting his skinny calves for the umpteenth time and wishing very dearly that his bones weren’t made out of paper mache. _‘So fragile, so disgustingly fragile...won’t be forever, can’t be forever….gotta lose the tentabeast, find a unicorn, channel my inner vampire, and get the fuck out of here so I can pee already.’_

If he was being honestly, that lattermost task was the one giving him the _most_ trouble, which was particularly sad because he, again, was being chased down by a tentacle monster guy at the moment. Don’t let his tetchy inner dialogue allow you to forget that. In fact, it was him stopping to go let it out on a tree that had been the catalyst of this... _inconvenience_ in the first place. There he had been, dick out and ready for sweet, sweet relief when bam! Tentacle guy, zeroed in and staring. It’d been so fucking creepy too―Tom had been _this_ close to pissing, and then he turned and there was just some _guy_ chiling there, with tentacles roosting around the tree. You really don’t appreciate how nice it is that you can take a wazz in a private, secluded toilet without a multi-limbed monster looming over you until that’s the situation you’re in, and suddenly you’re regretting every moment you took that cramped little bathroom for granted.

Not that you. Um. Not that you should ever expect that to actually happen to you. 

Anyway, so, he’d shoved his dick back in his pants, cringed inside because _dammit_ he had to pee, but sucked it up and then sprinted. Tentacle Man followed in hot pursuit, and here they were now, Tom gasping with every step and clenching his asscheeks with the fervency of a man possessed while the Tentacle Man...beast...thing honestly just….followed at what looked like a leisurely pace. Seriously, if Tom was reading this guy’s face correctly in the scarce, bare glimpses he got of him, this Tentabeast just looked really comfortable. Which was _really_ fucking infuriating.

But of course, all good things must come to an end, and just as he batted away the umpteenth bowtruckle and slid through more underbrush, _it_ happened. Though he was praying desperately that it wouldn’t, Tom spent just a bit too long scrutinizing Tentabeast’s face and had his _long-_ overdue horror movie moment. One second he was running as normal, and in the next he had scarcely a second to scream before he went sprawling down to the frosty, mulchy forest floor. You’d think he’d have already been punched out horror movie moment-wise since he lived in a freaky magic school most of the time and a decrepit, war-torn orphanage when he _didn’t,_ but alas. 

Down he went, sprawling arse over head and, god help him, sliding on his chest several inches in the icy dirt. He got a mouthful of nearly-disintegrated leaves and a screaming bladder for all of his troubles, and he was so focused on not pissing himself right then and there just from the sheer force of his fall that he almost didn’t notice when the tentabeast guy finally caught up with him. Of course, he kinda _had_ to when it seized him from around the middle and hoisted him _into the air,_ turning him around so that they could be eye to eye. Ohhhh God, that was putting _way_ tooo much pressure on...oh god, fuck, _fuck._

“There you are, little dove.” It murmured after a tense, heart-pounding moment. His heart was pounding from fear, yes, but mostly in terror of _actually_ pissing himself here and now. “You run awfully fast, d’ya know that? I got a good show out of it, though.”

Tom barely heard it over his internal panicking, and when he failed to respond in any manner, the tentacles _constricted_. Tom involuntarily whimpered high in his throat, teeth grinding together. His abdomen flexed in an attempt to keep it in, but it was too late― something released deep in his gut and, to his overwhelming horror, in mere moments his legs were drenched with a sudden, _disgusting_ wetness that which spread down his trousers. It grew terribly cold in the wintry air, and Tom was caught between lamenting the destruction of his perfectly good trousers, the sudden chill, and the sheer _humiliation_ of having pissed himself and he looked to the side, feeling acutely the way his face burned and eyes pricked. It was like his chest was trying to fall in on itself with the weight of his own shame and his breath caught—really, he could’ve died on the spot. The tentabeast guy blinked at him for a second before its eyes widened and it looked down at the stain spreading across the front of Tom's trousers, hoisting him just a bit higher into the air and ignoring the punched out noise he made in response.

"Oh," it said, voice low and almost...apologetic. "Oh, _Tom_ _._ Well, _that_ wasn't the plan. Hold on, let me―" and it started using its tentacles to―Tom didn't even _know_ , but he watched in disgusted fascination as the tentacles passed over the wet area and seemed to _absorb_ the fluid.

Oh, what the fuck. What the _fuck?_ This guy was supposed to be _eating_ him not―not doing whatever this nightmare-inducing (kind of considerate) thing was. It was taking a very long time too and Tom floundered, still hanging limply in the air, his expression halfway to disgust and still flushed with embarrassment, quickly burning up from his intense physical workout just now. It was fucking _weird_ to be felt up by a tentabeast guy, and then―

_Wh―_

Well. There went his trousers, because—because _it pulled down his trousers!_ Tom made a panicked sound of protest the moment it happened, trying to buck away when the tentacles began to clean his skin, but the tentabeast completely ignored him in favor of just―of just continuing its methodic cleaning despite his obvious yells and thrashes of No, Thank You, Seriously. He squirmed as the cold, winter air curled around his privates and struggled as best as he could, kicking and cursing the whole time.

Truth be told, he wasn’t even concerned with the fact that a huge, English-speaking tentacle monster had him held firmly in the air—he was more concerned with the fact that it had him half naked and wasn’t _listening_ to him, dammit. Which was kind of stupid, because why in the _hell_ would he expect a beast like this to listen to him, but this is Tom we’re talking about. That explained just about everything going on here. It was _just Tom._

And because this is _Just Tom_ , I’m sure you can imagine how loud those cursing protests got when it began to directly _fondle his dick._

It was cleaning, that was all, but it was cleaning through a vague _sucking_ sensation and he― _oh_. He was left _wheezing_ midair _,_ body threatening to die spontaneously from the sheer force of his own embarrassment when he realised he was, fuck, he was getting _hard_ from it’s ministrations. He couldn’t _help_ it, it was just―it was _touching_ him there, it was _cleaning his penis_ (?!) and it was so―so―

 _Oh,_ Jesus Christ.

He tried _desperately_ hard to buck away from it, from the inevitability, but he moved _just_ the right way and it― _oh―_ and its tentacle curled _right_ under a sensitive spot and it felt so _good_ and so _utterly_ fucking mortifying that Tom couldn’t quite suppress the tiniest, distressed, sobbing little moan just as frustrated tears streaked down his cheeks. 

And the Tentabeast guy went still.

 _Very_ still.

They were caught in a strange, pregnant silence for a moment and Tom stared into the Tentabeast’s glimmering green eyes for a moment, just waiting, and then at once, the tentacles retracted from his privates. The silence stretched, and Tom watched, huffing just a bit, as the Tentabeast’s eyes trailed just slightly lower than was strictly appropriate. _Fuck_.

“...Tom?”

Tom panted, trying to scrub the humiliating tears off of his face with the back of his hand and working desperately hard to hold himself together. “H—How do you know my name?” He whispered, hating how his voice shook.

He’d even said his name earlier, Tom remembered at once, but he hadn’t noticed then. The Tentabeast stared at him longer, and Tom tried to close his legs (if only to stop his dick from channeling a turtle in his cold air because good _god_ ). Mid-struggle, he was forced to stop and snap to attention when he saw more than felt his own body descend. He came _terribly_ close to the Tentabeast’s face, and he squirmed, trying to pull away as panic rose...but eerily human hands reached up and cupped his face. Gently, too. It wasn’t firm at all, wasn’t the jaw-snatch he was expecting, and the sheer absurdity of the careful touch made him still entirely. The Tentabeast stared at him for a long, long moment and tilted it’s head slowly, as if in thought. 

“How do I know your name? Tom, I know a lot more about you than you think.” It said suddenly, and there was a strange, dangerous note to it that had Tom flinching a bit. “No, don’t do that.”

The Tentabeast thumbed his face and hummed lowly, scrutinizing him slowly and making Tom shrink away. In his peripherals, Tom searched the Tentabeast’s strange, eerily pale face and for a moment he thought it was familiar, but he quickly shoved away the thought. Wasn’t productive.

“Who are you?” His voice was so awfully small.

The Tentabeast made another low, considering hum, and then it said— “My name is Harry.” 

Something in Tom’s brain short-circuited. 

Harry?

This horrible, _terrifying_ tentacle beast was named _Harry?_

What on _Earth―_ this―this _monster_ had been chasing him bare seconds ago, made him _piss_ himself, assaulted his genitals, and―and it’s name was _Harry?_

Harry looked down at him and rocked him a bit, as if...as if _he_ wasn’t so undeserving of such a _common_ name, and Tom couldn’t suppress a shudder when he noticed how dark his eyes had grown, how firmly they were trained on his lower half. Oh, God, he was still half-hard. He tried to shut his legs again, but it was still to no avail. 

And then, Harry murmured, “Keep those open for me.” And his voice— _Harry’s_ voice was so authoritative that Tom almost couldn’t help going lax. “I know it’s cold, little dove. Just bear with me, yeah?”

Slowly, Harry’s tentacles wound firmer, _tighter_ around Tom’s legs, and then his trousers went off somewhere that Tom couldn’t discern. He must’ve made some sort of noise because Harry hushed him—and _then_ there was—there was a tentacle going _inside_ his pants. It rooted around in there, curling around his thighs and getting into every nook and cranny that _wasn’t_ where he thought he might like to be touched, thank you very much, and each stroke left his skin tingling strangely in its wake. Up, down, around...Tom squirmed midair, torn between trying to buck away or into Harry’s touch because this was _weird,_ this was _so_ weird but it’d been so long since he’d had some sort of contact and as time went on without any teeth flashing in the moonlight...he didn’t _think_ he was in any immediate danger. Not anymore. 

As if to flip the bird at the December night, heat slowly but steadily crept up Tom’s cheeks and his body started to quiver with every dragging motion of the tendrils caressing him. He lost himself in the bliss of heat—and it was only once it had swallowed him just a smidge too thoroughly that Tom realized just what it was becoming. He had a moment to think, with startling clarity, _oh fuck,_ but just as soon as it had come, it passed, and each languid, short slide had the tension in him titching up and up. And with every tremor, every heat-laced stroke, he felt his more rational thoughts start to break into bits. Any desire to escape began to drained away from him in response to that gasping warmth kindling inside of him, rising up higher and higher by the moment and leaving him wondering, instead, just who it harmed if―fuck, _fuck_ that had been so _close―_ who it harmed if― _gah―_ if he had a bit of a rendevous with this... _guy?_ There was no one around to hold it against him and―and _shit,_ he couldn’t help it. 

_Natural body response, natural body response, it’s alright, it’s okay...._

Harry clucked his tongue a bit as his tentacle slid _right_ over the wet spot at the front of Tom’s pants that he was trying to pretend wasn’t there, as if disappointed, and murmured, “Well. Won’t be needing these anymore, will you?” And began to tug them off—leaving Tom entirely exposed to the open world and cold, winter breeze. “If you’re just going to get them wet with something else, best just take them off.”

The moment the fabric left him he breathed in relief, toes curling just from how nice it felt to no longer have that restraining him. Harry’s tentacles crept ever closing to his flushed, bobbing prize and Tom swallowed. Hard. 

“...What are you doing?” He asked softly, even thought he knew the answer, and he fought a shiver as the cool night air swept over his bare, burning body. 

Then, one of Harry’s tentacles stroked the curve of his vulnerable, _fragile_ little neck, and he couldn’t suppress a loud, strangled gasp as a strange heat erupted underneath his skin. The tentacle wound up his arms and along his chest, down his legs and around his thighs and he writhed midair, his limbs weakening at the sudden rush of pure, liquid fire that began to lace his veins, burning so hot and bright, _too_ hot, _god_ , he was _too hot―_

He could barely stomach the feeling of his shirt anymore, utterly unable to stand the feel of the cloth against his sensitive skin for a single extra second, and as it rubbed on him more and more uncomfortably by the moment, he just about _whined,_ panting at the unavoidable, inescapable onslaught of heat flaring through all of him. He was caught, suspended like a fly in a web, wriggling in discomfort and wanting more and more for his shirt to just get _off._ Then, a tentacle wound firmly beneath the hem of his shirt and he could’ve cried in gratitude when Harry ripped it away at once, buttons flying. He let it go, discarded into the dirt below him, and Tom promptly forgot about it. He hadn’t liked that shirt anyway.

“Well, to answer your question,” Harry drew him a little closer, looked at him through hooded, smoldering eyes, and said, “I think you already know exactly what I’m doing Tom. So. Just so you know. You can say no to this.”

And Harry made it _very_ clear what the better answer was by winding one of his tentacles around Tom’s cock. 

_“Oh―”_ Tom gasped the moment the cool slickness wrapped around him, bucking forward and into it almost against his will, “Harry, _please―”_

“Please?” Harry echoed quietly, the slightest growl to his tone as he squeezed _just_ right around him―Tom’s toes curled tightly and he huffed, maybe whimpered― “Please _what?”_

And Tom―Tom didn’t _know_ what he wanted anymore, if he wanted Harry to get off of him and run away, or if―or if he wanted Harry to squeeze tighter, give him _more_ because he was hot― _too_ hot―and it felt so _good._

And then he let go.

Tom was left sputtering midair, legs shaking, and something in his chest seemed to cave in after bare seconds swept past. 

" _Please,"_ Tom could no longer recognize himself in the way he _sobbed_ the word, voice quavering terribly and head growing foggier and foggier by the moment, unable to push down his own desperate, increasingly incoherent thoughts. Harry groaned under his breath and pulled Tom closer. "Please, just _do_ something," At this point, he didn't think he'd care if Harry ate or fucked him— he just needed something, _anything_ to happen.

“Look at you…” Harry murmured, voice sounding like sin, and he could feel his exhale on his burning cheek as he said, “already begging, pleading with me. Desperation is a good look for you, little dove.”

Something cool brushed across his mouth and he breathed in sharply, but after a moment he exhaled hard, shakily, and then parted his lips to accept it. Harry’s tentacle slid into his mouth, _blessedly_ cool and soothing against his tongue. His eyes drooped ever so slightly as it rooted around inside of his mouth, tracing a wonderfully cold trail down his burning throat. His head was forced back as the tentacle pushed forward, gently, and with every pain-staking centimetre his thoughts grew hazier and hazier. Gone was the notion of escape, gone was much of anything coherent at all―all he could think of was _Harry,_ and how _hot_ he felt. 

He could faintly hear himself whining now and there was...there was _something_ about having something so obstructively, so impossibly _big_ inside of him, taking ownership of his own mouth and leaving no argument, leaving him so _powerless_ that pure, consuming lust began to well up inside of him, tears springing to his eyes as he let out a strangled little moan.

And he was hot, so very hot, and he needed, he _needed―_ he swallowed around the tentacle and huffed out a sobbing little noise, trying to frot downwards and hoping Harry would do anything to relieve the growing, painful pressure in his cock, would make him stop being so _hot._ He tried to look up at Harry as if to beseech him with his teary eyes alone, and at once― 

Tom _stopped._

His legs froze up almost against his own will, and tears of frustration began to leak from his eyes. He didn’t even bother himself with trying to stop the little whimpering noises that were being strung out of his throat. Because Harry was looking back at him, back down and deep into him, and there was _something_ about the way he was doing so that made Tom feel so _terribly_ small. Like an ant in front of a shoe. He whimpered and arched his back in a quiet plea, breath coming in as quivering gasps, and his eyes fluttered. He was burning so fiercely that he couldn’t think straight to save his own life, and he was so _helpless,_ running hotter and hotter, a fiery heat racing through him that he _knew_ only Harry could fix if he just―!

He let out a whimpering, near scream of relief when Harry moved a tentacle over his cock, sweet, _sweet_ friction rubbing on all the right places. Tom couldn’t help but gasp and whimper, jerking into the grip around him almost helplessly, and let out a punched-out, pitiful little squeak when he felt something prod against his arse cheeks, cooling the burning skin. He frotted downwards as a tendril nudged at his entrance, wanting so _desperately_ for it to get inside of him, fix how _hot_ he was, make him feel _better―_

The tentacle at his backside traced a slick, achingly cool line over his entrance. Tom shuddered, tears free-falling down his face and legs trembling and the tip began _pushing_ its way inside, coated in enough slimy substance for the slide to be smooth.

Tom groaned at the stretch, throat tight and suckling down on the tentacle spearing him open at that end for dear life as another began to pierce him from the other. He met Harry's eyes, which seemed to search his own curiously, and watched his mouth curl into a smug, sultry little smirk. He hardly paid attention to it, too busy pressing downwards as the tentacle pushed forward, stretching him beyond what should have been possible. There wasn’t the barest lick of pain as it nudged deeper and deeper or as his own stomach began to stretch outward from its mass alone, and it was _so_ delightfully cold as it scraped along his burning walls that Tom heaved a relieved sob into the open air, eyes still locked with Harry’s. 

Tom could _see_ the pleasure in his eyes, and could see the visage of his own debauched, flushed face in those dilated, hungry irises. He could barely recognize himself. He felt small. So very small. Trapped between the large tentacle in his arse, the tight, slippery ring around his cock, and the one down his throat, Tom quickly ran out of directions to squirm in and could only stay there, completely at Harry’s mercy as he was forced to sink down even _deeper_ on his tendril, body seeming to _mold_ itself to its shape. And it felt so _good._

“Go on, dove, that’s it.” Harry’s voice just about _melted_ in his ears, and Tom’s eyes threatened to roll back _._ “Come on, now. Give into me.”

Harry’s eyes grew impossibly darker and the tentacle inside of his arse seemed to thrust _just_ a little harder. At once, Tom went limp, bearing his neck and _sobbing_ around the tentacle in his mouth. It was what Harry wanted and—and what he _needed_ to do. He wanted to—he _needed_ to give in, he knew it like he knew that this was pleasure at its purest. If it was at all possible he knew he would be _begging_ without knowing what for, tears dripping down his face and moaning loudly, without caution. Oh _,_ he wanted _more_ as he was violated from both ends, his body just about held aloft by the very tentacles that plugged him from top to bottom, the ones that _writhed_ inside of him and made something deeper and darker than pleasure well up in his chest and mind.

Somehow the tentacles began to thrust faster and he _screamed_ into the one down his throat, back bowing upwards helplessly as his body was invaded, violated, _used._ He felt so sensitive, so close to the edge. Each movement that brushed against his skin sent pleasure flaring through his body. His hands moved desperately, fingers clenching and unclenching, his eyes rolling as his muscles began to tense, so close, so close, _so close._

Tears dripped down his cheeks as his hips jerked, longing for release. His cock was weeping thick, white precum, and he wanted to beg, wanted to scream, wanted to plead for Harry to please, _please_ let him cum.

And then―

“ _Unnfph―!”_ The tentacle inside seemed to _swell_ and Tom’s eyes shot open, pupils blown wide and hazy. 

His jaw went even slacker than it had been before at the feeling, like everything inside of him was shifting just to make room for it, putting such _pressure_ on his prostate that before he could do something, before he could even think to stop it, Tom was _cumming._ His body went taught, his orgasm ripping through him and his own seed splattering across his chest. Bursts of pure ecstasy flared as the tentacles continued to plough him inside and out, only getting bigger _and bigger and_ **_bigger―_ **

His body twitched helplessly, overstimulated as every last ounce of pleasure was wrung from him and he was stretched impossibly wide, howling into the tentacle stuck in his throat. He heaved for breath through his nose and found it lacking, vision just slightly darkening around the edges.

 _“_ _Yes,_ _”_ Harry hissed through his teeth, and Tom could only look down at himself and whine in desperation when he saw that somehow, a second tentacle had forced its way inside of his hole, and a third was trying to plunge inside too now―and succeeding.

He tried to say something, say _no_ but scream _yes,_ but he couldn’t―he _couldn’t._ He could only gasp, moan, and lean into Harry as if he was the only anchor left in the world―because he was as good as. All he could focus on anymore was _Harry_ , how he felt moving inside of him, how closely the pleasure edged on pain because he had _just_ come, and all he could do was _cry_ into the open air. The sheer unavoidability of the mass inside of him and how it all writhed within his own body was _extravagant,_ was _impossible_ and he was _so big, so big, want to come, want him to come, want him to fill me up inside until I can’t hold it anymore, want him to fill me up like he could―like he could get me―_

Harry’s hands ran up his side and his face drew ever nearer, and Tom’s body _quaked,_ bucking towards Harry, wanting him to _hold_ him close, keep him safe, never let him go, _please hold me, please cum in me, please, please,_ **_please―_ **

The tentacle inside of his mouth suddenly withdrew, leaving Tom coughing and gasping raggedly into the clear night air, moaning louder than he ever had before. 

Harry took him from the chin, looked him in the eyes, and _hissed, “_ ** _Beg for me.”_ **

That command was all it took for the floodgates to open and tears poured down his face and he nearly _screamed,_ “ _Cum in me,_ **_please_ ** _cum in me, hold―hold me, don’t let me go, I want it, please, cum in me, cum in me,_ **_PLEASE!”_ **

He couldn’t help but devolve into a babbling, sobbing mess of throaty variations of _please, more, I’m sorry, fill me, please,_ and it all faded to static in his own mind as Harry wrapped his arms around him and told him, _commanded_ that _,_

“You’re going to take every _single bit of me_ inside of you. _”_

Tom could barely recognize his own voice. _“Yes, yes,_ _yes,_ give it to me, _give it to me―! I want it, I want your cum, please―!”_

Breathing hard, Harry caressed Tom’s hips and distended stomach in some mockery of love before wrapping around hands firmly around his waist, and pulled him _down._ Tom _howled,_ voice echoing into the trees as Harry thrust even further into the deepest parts of him. His eyes were fixed on the bulge of his own stomach and how it moved with every shallow, punishingly hard thrust. He could feel the tentacles getting impossibly bigger, thicker, as if preparing to let out all of Harry’s cum and he thrashed midair, wanting it so _badly._

“You feel that? How deep I am inside of you?”

“ _Guh―uh huh―!”_

“I’m going to cum in you whether you like it or _not.”_ He hissed into Tom’s ears, and pulled him close. _“_ You are stuck here, you are _helpless,_ and I’m going to fill you so thoroughly and so deeply that it never comes out, so that you look like you’re _pregnant.”_

 _“Please―please―_ **_please―!”_ **

Harry took him by the hair, pulled his head back, and _snarled, “And you’re going to cum right now or not at all.”  
_

Tom’s breath caught, eyes wide. 

And then Harry stilled inside of him, and Tom _wailed_ as his body was forced open further than it had ever been before. His eyes were blown wide, streaming and unseeing as his insides _flooded_ with warmth. His jaw fell open at the feeling of all of it _gushing_ inside of him, _so deep—so deep,_ Harry’s tentacles buried so far inside that it felt like the sensation of them would never leave him. It felt like gallons of heat were surging inside of him, and he could physically feel the way the flesh of his own stomach began to grow. 

He couldn't form as single word, could do _nothing_ but _scream_ as he was stretched to his limits, arsehole gaping and burning cum sloshing down his legs gloriously as Harry kept thrusting, pushing all of it _deeper and deeper_ as if to knock him up, and if to get him pregnant, as if _breed him_ and his vision began to white out. He gasped helplessly as an unholy, ceaseless mix of pleasure-pain sent sparks flying across his nerves. And then _Tom_ came too, came _again,_ and he couldn’t hear a thing anymore, his ears ringing, and it was just _so much, too much_ that, like a doll whose strings had been cut, his mind went blank and he went limp. 

Everything was...very blurry from there. He couldn’t help but twitch as vague aftershocks of pleasure spritzed through him on occasion and he could _feel_ more than hear that he was sobbing when the mass inside of him withdrew slowly, leaving him gaping and clenching down on nothing. He couldn’t―he couldn’t hold his eyes open. He didn’t know where he was, who he was with, who _he_ was and could do nothing more than desperately, helplessly lean towards the only pillar that remained. 

Someone warm was there, someone was stroking his face, brushing away the tears and telling him that he was, _“So good, Tom, you did so good for me.”_

He tried so hard to get words out, but he couldn’t make his tongue work at all, and he simply sobbed once more, frustrated and maybe a little scared. He buried his face into that someone’s warm, thrumming neck and clung to them for dear life. 

_“Harry, please.”_ He heard himself whimper, and his stomach sloshed strangely as he leaned further. 

It was like he was floating, bobbing in a warm sea and he couldn’t help but shake, curling towards whoever had their arms around him so tightly. He gasped and coughed as a hand ran up and down his back, body shaking fiercely with every soothing ministration. He squirmed as he was wiped clean of...of _something_ and huffed, too scrambled to make much sense of anything. 

Lips brushed against his foreheads and he had the strangest sensation that he was floating or moving, and he whined in displeasure, eyebrows scrunched together as something warm ran down his arse cheeks and dripped. It was cold. 

Whoever was holding him shushed him gently, tucked him into them a little closer, and whispered, “ _It’s alright, little dove...you did good. I’m taking care of it. Go to sleep.”_

And that was all it took. With one more quiet, shuddering inhale, Tom gave in and knew no more. 

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine for this fic that Harry is the MoD and was just fucking around in Tom’s timeline for shits and giggles, going to school as Harry Evans and experimenting with his new abilities all the while. Then, flash forward some odd months, Harry has discovered that he can morph his physical form as he wishes and goes “awwww yeah I’m gonna fulfill my lifelong, wildly impractical dream to be an octopus mermaid thing” and went to screw around in the forest with it...only to see Tom and realize oh, he’s gonna kill a unicorn, and decided to just scare the shit out of the dude and chase him back to the castle. 
> 
> Obv he didn’t MEAN to make Tom piss himself but he felt kinda bad, and then when things got a Lil Saucy, Tom never overtly said no so he was like “this might as well happen” and went to town. Accidentally pushed Tom a bit too far and sent him into a subspace, so he morphed back, cleaned him up, and carried Tom back to hogwarts whereupon he laid him down in the hospital wing and fucked off. 
> 
> Days later, Tom locked eyes with the quiet Slytherin kid that no one had ever paid much mind too, and his breath caught.


End file.
